


Shit, You're Hot

by lyricsaboutbats



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricsaboutbats/pseuds/lyricsaboutbats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A (hopefully better) version of the shitty fanfic i was working on before this, with the "soul mate timers".  Frank and Gerard are NOT soulmates, so when Frank wakes up with Gerard in his bed, he's understandably pissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shit, You're Hot

The first thing Frank Iero is aware of when he wakes up is how stupid he is. His head is pounding, his stomach is roiling, and the last coherent memory he has from last night is him puking over some really hot girl. Then he rolls over. He rolls over ONTO someone, someone who grunts and wheezes and mutters "BATHROOM" urgently before heaving all over Frank's new carpet, groaning loudly, and falling back asleep. Fuck. Frank shuffles back off of the vomiting asshole, suddenly aware of how simultaneously nice and slightly sore his dick feels. Double fuck. He checks his wrist, hoping to whatever higher power there might be that it says 00:00, but no such luck. 4 months. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. He was supposed to maintain abstinence, dammit. Typically, people don't have sex at all before they meet their soul mate, and even if they do, almost everyone manages at least a year before the timer ticks down. Frank had gone 5 months jacking himself off into a motherfucking sock for NOTHING, dammit! He groans, and the asshole wakes up again. Frank looks over at him, all prepared to chew him out for fucking drunken Frank and then puking on his carpet in the morning, but is really caught off guard. "Shit," he says, "you're really hot."

The asshole laughs, and Frank realizes that maybe he's still a little bit drunk, because he finds himself laughing too. "Frank, right?" he asks and Frank can barely stop himself from groaning from the combination of hangover pains and embarrassment. "How the SHIT do you know my name?"

"You slurred it before you shoved your face on mine," the dude snickers. "I told you mine, but I'm guessing you don't remember. I'm Gerard."

"Right," Frank says, then slips out of his bed to go puke into the toilet and swallow a handful of Advil.

When he comes back, he offers Gerard three of the tiny little pills. "Candy coverings," he explains when Gerard looks at him, perplexed.

"Yeah, ok, but what are they?" Gerard asks him, bemused.

"Advil. For y'know, preventing any more of that vomiting shit you did a little while ago."

Gerard groans. "Shit."

"Hey man," Frank says, slightly more okay with the hot stranger named Gerard, "don't worry about it. I'll clean it up."

"No," Gerard breathes, "I'll help you out."

And that, Frank thinks, is why this weird hot stranger who probably has a sore ass spent the entire morning helping Frank scrub gross vodka-french fry upheavings out of a $1500 carpet.


End file.
